


Ivory and Edge

by whipperschnapper



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Smut, jeanmarco, u know who u are if ur reading this now go the fuck to bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-12 13:23:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7936357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whipperschnapper/pseuds/whipperschnapper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean practiced for hours, and still his fingers fumbled. Little did he know--or at least remember--that the night is no longer young, and his boyfriend really hates to be woken up.</p>
<p>a more accurate title for this would be "Piano Porno".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ivory and Edge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [approaching_asymmetry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/approaching_asymmetry/gifts).



His fingers slipped to the tune of a frustrated growl wrestling from his sore throat, his dry eyes squeezing shut as his hands fell away, knuckles knocking against the wood piano stool in defeat. Once again, only three measures left, and he'd flubbed it. Once again, he'd gotten too eager.

And, once again, an analog clock was proven to be a shitty replacement for an actual metronome. 

Jean took a deep breath, willing the ceiling to crash down on him, or better, a ceiling to crash down on his professor and delay his arpeggio due date just  _one more week._  But whatever higher order that was out there seemed to lack interest in his plight as the ceiling stayed where it was, and his fingers continued to fumble.

"Just one more time. I can do this." He took a deep breath, held it, and released. His shoulders hunched and Jean reset his recorder again, taking position with as much dignity as he could muster.

The beginning of the chart was a breeze. He could do it seamlessly without even looking at the page anymore, but the moment his fingers turned to run back down the ivory, his shoulders shook. The moment he opened his eyes and stared at the sixteenth measure, when his fingers were due to change position, he lost control. He moved too fast and the notes jumbled together, overlapping and off-key.

Jean threw his hands in the air, his earlier growl garbling into a full-on, dicks-out  _yell_ of anger. His head pitched forward right into the ivory, his forehead slamming noisily into the keys with a distinguished  _twang!._ Jean held his hands in his lap, fingers curled into tight fistfuls of his slacks, and exhaled a gravelly sigh that turned more into a whimper at the end. His eyes stung again.

"Are you fucking  _kidding me,_ " a deep, croaky voice grumbled from the other edge of the room, and Jean sat up so fast he nearly fell backward.

Marco stood at the doorway, hair tousled, feet and chest bare, clad only in a pair of navy pajama pants. The thermostat had been turned down to seventy, but even still, his back was sticky with late-night sweat from the summer heat still blazing outside. "Jean..."

"I'm sorry!" Jean blurted before he could continue. "I just--I  _have_ to get these down before tomorrow. You can yell at me in the morning, and I'll write your term paper in English Lit. if that'll make it up to you." Jean reset his recorder. "I  _have_ to pass this class."

Marco hung his head as the chart started again, but was polite enough to wait until Jean fumbled once more before speaking. "Jean. It  _is_ tomorrow." He pointed a disgruntled finger at the clock on the north side of the room. "It's two-thirty in the morning. _Go_ to _sleep_."

Jean shook his head, pursing his lips into a tight line and resetting the recorder. "Not until I get this right." He flexed his fingers, worked out the stiffness in his joints and took position.

"Please. Just." Marco heaved a great, sleepy sigh, trudging heavily into the room. " _Do it in the morning._ "

"I won't be able to sleep until I get this done."

" _I_ won't be able to sleep  _unless_ you stop."

"Sorry." 

Marco threw him a withering glance, plopping down heavily on the bench right beside Jean. The piano bench squealed and creaked its protests. "No you're not."

Jean smirked, though he wasn't feeling particularly funny at the moment. "No, I'm not."

Marco sighed again and stopped the recording. He threw it onto the piano with a disgusted breath, his head lolling to one side until it found Jean's bony shoulder and rested there. "You're going to be the death of me if you keep doing this."

Jean rolled his eyes and leaned back from the ivory, letting Marco's warm fingers lace between his. "Hotels  _do_ exist you know."

A soft, short laugh bubbled from Marco's throat and he reached up to pinch Jean's nostrils between his index and thumb. "Asshole."

Jean made a strangled noise and turned his head away, opting instead for Marco's warm hand to caress his cheek. Marco's fingers were soft with perspiration, not exactly clammy, but smooth to the touch and entirely welcome against Jean's dry skin. He let himself sit there for a long moment, staring hatefully at the keyboard, like he could set the whole thing aflame with his gaze alone, but all that did was make his eyes sting.

"I need to pass this class, Marco." Jean rasped, his head resting against Marco's. "You know I need to."

Marco hummed and his thumb caressed circular patterns into Jean's skin, a trail of goosebumps left in its wake. "You will. Just be patient with yourself."

"I shouldn't  _have_ to be patient. I should know this stuff already." Jean growled bitterly, glaring upward to keep the water in his vision at bay.

Marco shook his head, his cheek rubbing soothingly against Jean's shoulder. "You do know this stuff, but you need to let yourself flunk it up every once in a while so god doesn't mistake you for an angel and take you away. Just let yourself relax for a while."

"I can't."

"Do you need help?"

Jean crinkled his nose. " _No_." But his voice cracked.

"Oh,  _Jean_." Marco breathed and lifted his head. His neck craned forward so his lips touched the skin around Jean's throat, his breath giving the other goosebumps. Marco planted one soft kiss directly over Jean's jugular, humming smoothly. His hands moved quietly, thumbs massaging the tense muscles up to his shoulders before Marco's strong arms wrapped around Jean's neck and his mouth migrated to his jawline. "You'll do fine." he hummed. "I know it."

Jean tried to ignore the way Marco's mouth felt against his jaw, looking up so he wouldn't risk his mind going muddled at the sight of his boyfriend's back muscles flexing right below him. "Yeah, well that makes one of us."

Marco's breath tickled when he laughed against Jean's skin. "Have I ever been wrong?"

"Uh, yes." Jean groused. "You chose me."

One of Marco's hands traced up the length of Jean's back, and his fingers tugged once at Jean's ear as Marco imitated a buzzer noise. " _Wrong_. Best decision of my life. Even if you don't understand the concept of time."

"Even still, you decided to be my roommate." Jean mumbled as clearly as he could. Marco's lips were making their way painstakingly slow to his mouth, and it drove him crazy. "You got a job at that bakery and now we're _both_ getting fat." His breathing hitched when the tip of Marco's tongue swiped smoothly at the turn of his jaw, and Jean found himself pressing his legs tight together. "You...you majored in philosophy..." Jean sighed and his eyes rolled at the feeling of Marco nibbling his way from his collarbone, to his jawline, and slowly, ever so slowly, to his mouth. "You...flooded...the kitchen--"

Marco's lips smoothed Jean's complaints into nothing more than disgruntled hums and then quiet whines. He bit down, teeth softly grinding Jean's lower lip between them as his hands kneaded at the small, tense curve where Jean's neck met his shoulders.

Jean tried his damnedest not to let it get to him, not to let Marco's insistent hammering break down his carefully constructed wall of focus like a deck of cards, but the way his hands moved down his body made him feel like he was made of putty. Every squeeze sent a thrill through him, every sound Marco made made him a little more vulnerable.

"You're," Jean panted when Marco broke away to mouth his way down Jean's throat again, his lithe fingers unbuttoning Jean's shirt as he went. "You're doing that...on  _purpose_." 

He had to lean into the piano to keep his balance at the feeling of Marco's nose tracing a line down his torso, at the absolutely  _maddening_ thrill of ecstasy at Marco's tough baker's hands kneading and rubbing at the skin around his hipbone. Jean muttered a curse and chomped his lip when Marco's hot breath washed across his stomach and his teeth grazed his skin once more.

"I like this color on you," Marco crooned coyly, his fingers wandering to sacred places. "And I'm a sucker for a man in fitted slacks."

" _F-fuck you_ ," Jean growled through clenched teeth at the sound of his belt buckle jingling. " _Fuck you, Marco Bodt."_

He was met with a dark chuckle and a firm hand gripping his ass through his pants. "You are, Jean."

Marco knew the condoms were in Jean's wallet, conveniently placed in the butt of his slacks. He maneuvered himself so he straddled the piano bench, his back arched so he could keep his hands firmly in place on Jean, his thumbs massaging tight, tempting circles into the latter's inner thighs as he pulled them onto his own lap. He was lucky he wasn't confined to such fitted pants, but that problem was easily solved.

"Goddammit," Jean whimpered as Marco's fingers smoothed his pants down to his hipbones, then his ass until they hung around his knees. He clumsily kicked off his shoes and socks as Marco bit into the wrapper and fitted himself. "Marco.  _Fuck,"_

"You make pretty noises, Jean." Marco grinned, and a bright crimson dusted his cheeks and ears beneath the healthy sheen of sweat on his skin. "This is always my favorite part."

Jean forgot his voice could do that. When Marco's finger eased in smoothly, crooked gently, Jean's mouth hung open and a high keening escaped him. It wasn't a whine exactly, but Marco's mouth spread into a triumphant grin at the sound nonetheless, and he leaned forward to kiss his way into it. 

Jean's back arced lewdly, his hands groping for register until they found Marco's strong shoulders. His fingers curled into claws that scratched at Marco's tanned skin at another finger in, and finally a low cry strained past his lips at a third.

Marco's eyes were hooded, but the rosy flush spread all the way to his chest, sinking down into the coiled pit, slowly building, in his lower gut. He fitted Jean as long as he dared, and as long as he could stand before his fingers slid out in one smooth movement. Jean yelped in retaliation, eyes squeezed shut, teeth biting hard into his lower lip. Again, Jean hissed as all of Marco eased into him.

Marco's mouth watered watching Jean turn such a beautiful color. "Good?" He breathed.

Jean panted, his nails scraping angry lines into Marco's shoulders, and managed to open his eyes a crack. "I almost. Forgot what this felt like." He heaved and nodded his assent.

They started slow, testing the waters before diving in headfirst. Sure, Jean made noises, but Marco made faces. His eyebrows crinkled, sometimes his eyes got a sparkle in them, and he bit his lip in the prettiest way.

Jean groaned and the position switched. No longer did Marco straddle the piano bench, but instead sat facing the keys with Jean settled atop his lap. He could lean forward and plant his lips about Jean's pink chest, his tongue playing games across the sensitive skin. He moved along when Jean's neck craned back, his hands dropping from Marco's shoulders and onto the ivory with two loud, off-key bangs. Marco's teeth scraped smoothly against Jean's collarbone until a gentle lavender patch no bigger than the pad of his thumb bloomed just beneath the surface. 

Jean pumped the most, easing up and down on Marco's lap.  _God,_ he thought blearily,  _where's the lube nearby when you need it?_ His lower abdomen was raveled to the point of near pain, but his mouth couldn't find the words.

Marco didn't need to hear him say it, though he loved the sounds Jean made. When he was ascertained Jean was all right to keep his balance atop him, Marco's right hand struck out and snagged Jean by the length, his thumb massaging the head already soaked in pre-cum. Jean hissed and bit down on his lip, his neck craning back, eyes rolling shut. " _F-fuck,"_

Marco's thumb massaged Jean's head slowly, teasingly. It drove Jean up the wall, the feeling of being so damn close, yet denied of exactly what he needed to get there. The room tilted, spun on a dime, and Jean had to lean forward to keep his balance. He panted, forehead resting on Marco's shoulder before he couldn't take it anymore. His thrusting grew more urgent, desperate, and Jean's mouth found the side of Marco's throat.

It helped. Marco took in one long breath through his teeth, his fingers tightening instinctively, and Jean let out a low groan before carrying on. His lips migrated until they kissed up the turn of Marco's jaw, until his teeth nibbled and grated at Marco's earlobe, and he got an excruciatingly satisfying groan from the latter. Still his mind was a blurred mess, his eyes burning from staying up so late, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to be tired.

Marco's thumb ran the length of Jean's slit, eliciting a deep shiver from him, one so deep Jean's head dropped back to his shoulder and his fingernails scratched once again at Marco's back. He panted until he came with a single, weak cry, the coil in his gut unraveling with a sudden burst of energy that rocked right out of him.

Marco chuckled long and low, the hand not covered in cum floating up to cup Jean by the face, his thumb tracing the line of Jean's cheek. He came not five seconds later, hissing with rosy cheeks, his lower lip clenched between his teeth, and Jean kissed him deep until the line between his brows disappeared.

They came down gently, thankfully, and Marco tied off the condom before tossing it in the trash can to the side of the piano. His eyes drooped once more, though he was no longer angry with Jean for keeping him awake. His body buzzed, a warm, calming hum passing deep into his bones each time he touched skin with Jean, until Marco was yawning again.

Jean at least put on his boxers again, and used his shirt to wipe himself and Marco clean before gathering his clothes and tossing them in the laundry for later. He didn't protest to Marco leading him to the bedroom by the hand, semi-unconscious as his head hit the pillow. He hummed, eyes sliding closed as Marco sank smoothly into the pillow beside him and heaved a great sigh.

And just before he was taken, just before Jean could really consider himself asleep, he heard Marco whisper softly through the fog in his brain.

"I love you, Jean."

Marco grinned and his fingers made their way to Jean's serene face. They floated, feather-light, across the warm skin, smoothing down his damp hair.

"You'll do great." 

**Author's Note:**

> it's short and sweet like Abbey
> 
> yet filled with gays groaning and constant complaining like me


End file.
